The Rose Garden
by Kalistrata
Summary: When a man from Lisbon's past makes a sudden reappearance, how will she handle her feelings towards their relationship? Who will be there for her in the aftermath of their meeting? Lisbon/Jane friendship. Complete!
1. Challenges

**The Rose Garden**

Comments: This story is loosely based on the true events surrounding the marriage of someone very close to me. They are magnified in this story, but the emotions are the same.

This story is not as long as my other one, nor is it related. It was just a short fic that I wanted to finish before I work on my next big project. Thanks for reading and I would love to get your reviews!

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**Chapter 1-Challenges**

Teresa Lisbon was stretched to the limit. She sat at her desk, paperwork filling every available surface. They were in the middle of an investigation into the murder of a Sacramento alderwoman, and they had three cases that they were still finishing reports for. Patrick Jane had managed to piss her off four times today, and it wasn't even noon.

He currently lay on the couch with a Rubik's Cube. He'd already finished it three times today, and was beseeching his team members to mix it up for him. Normally only Van Pelt would have been inclined to humor him, but today, they took any excuse for a break.

Even as she watched, he flipped one last row and held it up in victory. Van Pelt glanced at him briefly. Rigsby was staring at a computer screen, a scruffy-looking pencil taking even worse treatment from him as he chewed on it absently. Cho was Cho—focused, efficient, and methodical in his research and reports. He thoroughly ignored the consultant.

Jane stood and approached Cho, extending the Rubik's Cube to him. She couldn't hear them through her closed door, but she knew Cho would cave after minimal persuasion on Jane's part. She gave him fifteen seconds.

Sure enough, fifteen and a half seconds later, Cho took the Rubik's Cube with a sigh and began mixing up the colors.

She couldn't blame them. Natalie Yancey was a well-loved alderwoman, and they were getting a lot of pressure to get this case in the solved pile. Breaks were few and far between.

So far they had very little. The fifty-year-old mother of three and wife of a decorated Army Colonel had been beaten to death in her home yesterday afternoon just before her youngest son had arrived home from school. The elder daughter and son had since arrived from their respective colleges, and the husband had been called in Iraq. He was on his way back on leave.

While all of her injuries had been horrific, the one that killed her was a blunt force trauma that caved in the back of her skull. It had been a messy crime scene, traumatizing for her high school son.

Her best suspect right now was her worst: a long-time Fire Lieutenant of the Sacramento Fire Department, Dan Giles. SFD had largely buttoned up about it. He was well-liked and respected, and the rest of the firefighters loathed to speak ill of him. Some neighbors suspected an affair, and had quickly told Van Pelt all they thought they knew about it.

Their other suspect was a utility worker who had been in the area that day. He was in the interrogation room now, and Cho had already grilled him. Her gut told her the guy was innocent, but they were checking his alibi now. Guiltily, she hoped that he turned out to be the perpetrator, because that meant she wouldn't have to dig into the Fire Department personnel.

Rigsby came to the door and knocked. She motioned him in.

"Olster's alibi is solid, Boss. His supervisor puts him turning in his truck around that time. Should I turn him loose?"

Lisbon sighed regretfully, absently pushing the picture of her dog back a few inches. "Yeah, let him go. It was too easy, anyway."

Rigsby nodded and turned to go.

Jane sailed through the door before it could close behind Rigsby, a finished Rubik's Cube in his hand. "Mix it up for me, Lisbon. Of all of my opponents, I expect you to be the most challenging!"

She leveled him with a look. "I'm busy," she stated. "Go away, Jane."

"Aww, Lisbon, come on. Everyone else has done it."

Her eyebrows came up. "And that's a great reason to do it," she muttered, flipping a file closed.

"It is, usually."

Her hand came out, palm flat, and Patrick Jane grinned. He set the Rubik's Cube in her hand.

"Take three steps back," she ordered, leaning back in her chair. She began mixing up the Cube, but her eyes were on Jane. "One more."

He did as she asked, and his expression said he was either puzzled or he was preparing himself for what she was about to do.

Lisbon threw the Rubik's Cube over his left shoulder, out into the squad room. The three heads of their other teammates came up as the colored cube bounced past them to skid underneath a heavy shelf.

Jane gave her a look of stern disapproval. "That's no way to treat the Cube, Lisbon."

"Out," she ordered. "You wanted a challenge, I gave you one. Now get out. I have work to do."

With only a slight bit of dejection, Jane left her office to retrieve the Cube. Maybe it would keep him busy for a while, she considered as he dropped to his stomach, hand extended under the shelf.

Suddenly her phone rang and she picked it up.

"Lisbon."

The other end was silent for a moment. "Teresa?" a male voice asked finally.

She sat back in her chair, glancing at the number on the phone before putting it back to her ear. "Yes? Who is this?"

He hesitated a moment. "It's Michael. Michael Ballinger."

Lisbon froze. That wasn't a name she'd heard in years.

"Teresa? Are you there?" he coughed suddenly, away from the phone.

"Yeah, I'm here," she said reluctantly. "What do you want?"

"I was wondering…I have something important to talk to you about…could we meet for lunch?"

Lisbon stood and moved to shut her door. "Just like that?" she hissed after the door was closed. "After what happened seven years ago, and you think you can just resume this relationship?"

"Look, I told you how…look, I was a jerk, okay? I'm sorry. If this wasn't important, I wouldn't ask. You know that. I've honored your request thus far. Tiny's in an hour?"

Lisbon sighed. "Fine, I'll be there. I don't have a ton of time, but I can meet for a bit."

"Great, I'll see you then."

* * *

When she pushed open the door to the small diner called Tiny's, she had expected to see Michael. He was always on time, and she rarely was. What she didn't anticipate was how he looked.

Michael had always been a well-built man. His skin had always carried a glow of vibrancy, and in her memory, his eyes were a warm brandy color, sparkling with life.

Now he was skinny and pale. His dark, thick hair that she had loved so much was gone. His skin looked fragile and papery.

She sat across from him at the table, and noticed with a small smile that he had water. Of course he did.

Michael smiled at her. "You look great, Teresa," he said quietly.

"You're sick," she stated bluntly.

His smile lacked humor now. "Yeah. I am."

"Cancer?"

"You would figure with the terms we parted on that it would be liver cancer or something. But it's multiple myeloma."

Lisbon tried to keep her face impassive, recalling the reasons she'd left him, the reasons she'd had a restraining order on him for three years. He seemed different though. He seemed older. Sadder.

"What did you want?" she asked, her voice a bit harsher than she meant it to be.

Michael sighed. "I guess when you get to this point in an illness, you want to make amends. You want to have someone you care about to know. I'm trying something with stem cells in Tennessee in a week, but if that doesn't work out, it's not a good prognosis."

He was silent, and she finally softened her expression. "I'm sorry, Michael."

Michael nodded absently. "I'm not looking to get back with you, Teresa. I just…I just wanted to say that I'm sorry. I was an idiot drunk and I lost the best thing I had in my life to that. I've been clean for four years now."

She smiled at him, but was unable to keep a bit of bitterness out. "Good." Too little too late, though.

Michael hesitated a moment, and then his brown eyes locked onto hers. "You are still my power of attorney, did you know that?"

Her throat caught. "No," she managed finally.

"I have no one," he said a bit bleakly.

"You're asking me to make decisions about your life," she stated, a little incredulously, as she realized what he was saying.

"I guess."

She stood suddenly, startling a waitress who was passing by. "You drink yourself into a rage and you beat the shit out of me for nearly a year of our marriage, and now, when you're dying, you expect me to stand by you? Jesus, Michael!" Her tone was incredulous.

"I know, Teresa, I'm sor—"

"No," she said viciously, leaning over the table. "Sorry isn't good enough for what you did. It doesn't make up for—" she broke off in a strangled voice and tears sprung to her eyes. Now that she noticed it, his were a little watery as well. Her voice was calmer now. "No. I have a murderer to catch, the last thing I need is to waste my time with you. Goodbye, Michael."


	2. Consolation Prize

**The Rose Garden**

Comments: Here's the next chapter for you all. Thanks for any reviews and reads!

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**Chapter 2-Consolation Prize**

Cho fell in with her as she stalked to her office the next morning. "Got a problem, Boss," he said without premise.

"Of course we do." Her voice was irritated.

"Giles has disappeared."

She sighed. "Of course he has." At least the week was getting better, she consoled herself. That was considering that _nothing_ would be worse than another meeting with Michael.

Cho followed her silently back to the squad room.

"Van Pelt and Rigsby, you two work on tracking down Giles," she said without a greeting. Rigsby jumped slightly at her voice, wearing an expression like a ten-year-old who got caught looking at his dad's Playboy magazines by his mother. "Get a BOLO out and track down known associates he might go to ground with. Cho and Jane, the three of us are going to talk to the wife, then to his station. We leave in five."

After a murmur of agreement, Lisbon made a beeline for Minelli's office. She knocked and he motioned her in.

"Giles took off, sir," she told him. "He's making our case stronger for us."

Minelli sighed. "I used to play poker with him occasionally," he said regretfully. "I'll call down and talk to Chief Ayres. Make sure Jane plays nice. Last thing we need to do is piss off the fire department."

"Yes, sir," she affirmed.

* * *

Karen Giles was not pleased to find three CBI agents in her living room. They stood in the middle of the expansive room, her arms crossed, her expression defiant.

"I've never even heard of this CBI," she said snottily. "I want to talk to real cops."

"Sorry, ma'am. We trump real cops," Cho said blandly. "When was the last time you saw your husband?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, tucking a piece of blonde hair behind an ear. Lisbon couldn't help but notice that she was really a brunette. "Last night," she said reluctantly. "He said he was going to meet some of the guys for a drink, and that was the last I saw him."

"Any idea where he is?" Lisbon asked.

Karen eyed her disdainfully. "No, and if I did, I wouldn't tell _you_."

Lisbon sighed, trying to keep her patience. "Did you know Natalie Yancey?" Her voice carried an edge of irritation.

"Personally? No. I knew of her, met her once. And really, what does this have to do with anything? I didn't kill her. I think you all should leave now. You're going to make me late for yoga."

Outside, Lisbon blew out a breath, trying to relieve the tension in her neck and back. This was one of those days that you wish you could go back to bed and start over.

* * *

As they sat in the car outside Giles' station, Lisbon favored Jane with a glare. "Be nice, Jane. Pissing off the fire department is a really bad idea if you'd like their cooperation in the future. This isn't like working regular cases."

"I can be sweet," he protested. "Very sweet. Deliciously sweet."

Lisbon rolled her eyes as she opened her car door. Jane smiled at her, but it was if he sensed what was going on. It was an empathetic smile, as if he understood. He might, to some degree, she realized. Maybe he would understand why meeting with Michael had essentially ruined her week.

They were greeted by Chief Ayres and Lisbon introduced herself and her teammates.

"You have to understand, Agent Lisbon," Ayres said. "Giles was a straight edge. He wouldn't cheat at poker, much less on Karen. And he certainly wouldn't kill anyone."

"He ran off," Cho pointed out in bored tones. "Doesn't exactly scream innocent." Ayres narrowed his eyes at the shorter man.

"Listen," Lisbon interjected, pushing back a loose strand of dark hair. "All I want to do is talk to him. If he didn't kill her, then there is no reason to be worried, no reason to run."

Ayres sighed. "As much as we respect our brothers in blue, people always love a civil servant who's broken the law. It's like a feeding frenzy, especially considering who was killed. I'm sorry, I don't blame him. They hang in the media before any investigation has been finished."

"You say that Dan wouldn't cheat on Karen," Jane said suddenly, studying a nearby truck. He reached out and ran a finger along the chrome.

"That's right," Ayres said guardedly. "He wouldn't."

"But she would," Jane said lightly, his eyes flicking back to Ayres, measuring him. "With you, specifically."

Ayres turned red in the face, the veins in his thick neck bulging. "How dare you—" he spat and lunged at Jane.

Lisbon acted before she thought, pushing Jane back with her shoulder and slipping between the two men. "Ayres, back off!" she bellowed.

Ayres barreled into her and she brought up an arm to fend him off, one leg back to provide balance. Jane stumbled back, staying out of her way as they slid.

When his momentum gave out, she seized his collar and, with all of her strength, yanked him to the side, pushing him up against a wall. His breath made a _whoof_ at the impact.

"Ayres—" she began, but his eyes only saw red. His arm connected with the side of her head as he tried to push toward Jane. He swung her around, slamming her against the wall with enough force to knock the air from her lungs. Her skull made a large thump at impact and she saw black spots.

Blinking rapidly to clear her vision, she yanked her gun from her holster and seized the back of his shirt. The cool metal rested on one of those bulging veins.

That got his attention. He stopped struggling and froze in his tracks. Cho also had his weapon drawn.

"You do not want to piss me off any more, Ayres," she hissed. "Now stand down before I shoot you."

"He had no right to say that," Ayres growled, but he didn't move. They'd attracted an audience, several firefighters glaring at them from the sidelines.

"Is it true?" Cho asked, lowering his weapon. He didn't put it away though.

Ayres glared at him, but Lisbon's weapon was still on his neck. "She and I—we—had a thing for a while," he mumbled. "It only lasted a month."

"Did Dan know?" Jane asked as Lisbon holstered her weapon. She moved around in front of him, her expression sour.

The man shrugged. "I don't know. He never mentioned it to me. It was a year ago."

"Any idea where he might have gone?" Lisbon asked finally, resisting the urge to simply close her eyes. Her head pounded painfully.

Ayres glanced at her uneasily. "He had a hunting cabin up north somewhere. That's the only place I could think of."

"Know an address or rough directions?" Cho asked, pulling out a notepad. Ayres shook his head.

"You're lucky I don't take you in for assaulting an officer," Lisbon said coldly. "If Giles contacts you, you let me know immediately." She handed him a card. "Until then, I expect you to treat any CBI agents I send to this station with absolute respect and cooperation. Otherwise I'll reconsider. Understood?"

Ayres gulped and nodded vigorously.

"Check out Giles gear and locker," she told Cho shortly. "I'll be in the car."

* * *

Lisbon had her arms crossed on the steering wheel, head resting on them when Jane and Cho returned from the car. Her skull was pounding, despite the Excedrin she'd taken.

She raised her head up suddenly at the sound of the doors opening, and she immediately groaned, squinting her eyes to the pain.

"You have a concussion," Cho stated sturdily from where he stood outside the passenger's door.

"Oh, I do not," she said irritably. "Get in."

Cho shook his head. "I'm driving," he asserted, moving around the car.

She sighed and got out. "Sit in front, Jane. I'll sit in the back."

"You're being suspiciously nice to me, Lisbon."

"Nonsense," she muttered. "It's darker back here and I want to lay down."

Jane snapped his fingers. "I knew there had to be an ulterior motive," he said to Cho, who ignored him.

The drive was shorter than she thought, and she carefully sat up. "Oh no. No way, Cho. I'm fine." Memorial Hospital loomed off to the right.

"It's either that or Jane stays with you tonight to make sure you actually can wake up. You pick, Boss."

Lisbon sighed and threw open the door. "Fine. But I'm going alone. Call me with anything you've got. I'll let you know when I'm ready for a pickup."

Jane waved cheerily at her as she stalked into the hospital. She scowled. It was probably a good thing she was here, considering her headache and the nausea that had appeared on the way over. Lisbon sighed as she crossed through the automatic doors. At least a concussion wasn't Michael.


	3. A Million Dollars

**The Rose Garden**

Comments: Thanks for the reviews and reads guys. And to answer a question...it's going to be a little more than a friendship, but not a full-fledged Jisbon (or even half-fledged). It's just not appropriate here, but I think it'll be enough to satisfy :)

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**Chapter 3-A Million Dollars**

Lisbon winced at the sudden assault of fluorescent lights and the dull roar of the emergency room on her senses. She hated the crush of people and crowded rooms.

The woman at the desk handed her a clipboard to fill out and she sat down to wait for her name to be called. Lisbon dropped her head back against the wall carefully, trying to ignore the slight nausea and the pounding in her head. She should have let the guy have Jane. It might have taught him something about opening his big mouth.

"Teresa Lisbon?"

She stood carefully and followed the nurse back to a room.

After an initial check, the nurse sent the doctor in.

"Ms. Lisbon," he greeted. "I hear you bumped your head."

"Something like that. And it's Agent. I'm with the CBI," she murmured as he flashed his penlight at her pupils. "My head connected with a wall."

"Ah," he said. "Did you lose consciousness?"

"No. Saw black spots in my vision for a few moments though."

"Headache? Nausea?"

"Yes."

"Dizziness?"

He ran down the litany of concussion symptoms and she answered shortly. Yes, she had light sensitivity. No she didn't have blurred or double vision. Finally he stepped back. "Well, Agent Lisbon, it looks like you have a mild concussion, and I don't think a CT is necessary. However if your symptoms get worse, there could be a serious problem, and you need to get medical help immediately. Head trauma is not something to mess around with." He scribbled on the clipboard and then looked up at her. "You need to rest. No physical stress, no cognitive stress. Just plain old bed rest for at least a couple days—"

"I'm in the middle of an investigation, I can't just drop it," she protested.

The doctor shrugged. "You can make this a lot worse on yourself, and potentially develop chronic symptoms if you don't give yourself time to heal. There have been some very clear examples in the news lately of how dangerous a simple bump on the head could be."

She sighed, scowling. "Alright."

"You can take Tylenol for the pain if you'd like, but avoid drinking. Remember, if your symptoms get worse, make sure you get to a hospital."

Lisbon thanked him as he left, and pulled out her phone to call Cho. It rang in her hand as she pulled on her jacket. She didn't recognize the number.

"Lisbon."

"Teresa Lisbon?"

She frowned. "Yes, that's me."

"I'm Mary with Memorial Hospital." Lisbon was confused for a moment until the woman continued. "Do you know Michael Ballinger?"

Dread filled her as she let herself out of the examining room. "I do."

"He has you on his emergency contacts list, and I am informing you that he was brought into the emergency room a bit ago and has been admitted to ICU."

Lisbon sighed, her gaze finding the elevator down the hall. Part of her wanted to turn and run, to leave Michael to his own devices. She instead found herself thanking the woman and strode off in search of her ex-husband.

* * *

Lisbon called Cho to let him know that she wouldn't be back in today, but he was to call her with any and all updates on the case. She rounded her orders off with a stern warning to keep Jane in line and to shoot the consultant if Cho couldn't manage that.

She took the elevator up to the sixth floor, to ICU. Lisbon hated hospitals, dreaded having to spend any significant amount of time in them, whether it was visiting or being admitted. She didn't know why she was doing this, knew she should just walk away and leave him to die alone. As always, Michael was dragging her into his problems, but a part of her couldn't stand that guilt, couldn't sit by the sidelines while he was in pain and suffering, alone.

Lisbon went to the desk. "I'm looking for Michael Ballinger. I got a call that he was brought here."

A nurse looked up. "His wife?"

Lisbon gave her a bitter smile. "Ex-wife."

"Ah. We aren't allowed to tell you much—"

"I'm his power-of-attorney. I can have the paperwork faxed to you, if necessary."

The woman's eyes were on Lisbon's hip instead of her face. "Firearms aren't allowed—"

"Relax," Lisbon said, a little exasperated, showing her badge. "I came from work. Agent Teresa Lisbon, CBI."

The nurse, Darla, was still a bit skeptical of her, but she showed Lisbon to his room. "The doctor will be with you shortly. You can go in if you like."

That was something she wasn't ready for. She remained outside, watching him. He was breathing on his own, but asleep or unconscious, she didn't know. He had various tubes running from his body, and he looked like a skeleton, so thin.

_Her head was on his bare chest as they lay panting in their bed. Married hours earlier, it had so far been the best night of her life. Her brothers were staying with friends as she and Michael celebrated their honeymoon. A whole week of nothing but them._

_"If I had a million dollars," he crooned the old song. "I'd buy you a house!"_

_She found herself giggling at his antics, at his horribly off-key singing. He squeezed her tightly. "And if we got that house, know what I'd do?"_

_Teresa pressed herself against them, a coy look in her eyes as she absently ran her fingers along his thigh. "No, what's that?"_

_He grinned at her, then seized her hands and rolled on top of her. "I'd plant you a rose garden," he murmured, then kissed her gently. "A rose garden as beautiful as you are, and I'd care for it, like I'll care for you. Tend it…water it…love it…" the words came out between kisses down her neck. A hungry light appeared in his eyes and she grasped his hair as he kissed between her breasts, his hands making her ache with desire for him._

"Agent Lisbon?" a voice asked her from behind.

She started out of her reverie, spinning around. Dizziness washed over her and she wobbled.

A hand was on her, steadying her, and she focused on the small man standing in front of her. "Agent Lisbon, are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Sorry."

His concerned face said he didn't believe her. "You have a concussion," he surmised.

She shrugged, turning back to watch Michael. "I was in the E.R. when I got the call. They said I'd be fine."

"With _rest_." He pulled up a chair. "Sit. I'm Doctor Bolvar."

Reluctantly, Lisbon sat, brushing her dark hair back out of her face. "He didn't tell me much when we talked yesterday, just told me that he had cancer—multiple myeloma—and reminded me that I'm still his power of attorney." She scowled at that.

"You just found out yesterday?" he asked.

She shrugged. "We don't exactly have the best...relationship," she murmured.

Dr. Bolvar looked a little sad. "I see." The little man turned to look through the window with a sigh. "His kidneys have begun to shut down. He refused dialysis."

She shook her head. "Why would he refuse dialysis?"

"Because he is in pain, and he knows he is going to die. All we can do is make him as comfortable as possible," Bolvar said grimly.

"Can I…can I sit with him?" she asked hesitantly. "Will he wake?"

His gaze was sympathetic. "You can sit with him, but I don't know if he'll wake. Even if he does…sometimes this cancer can affect them neurologically. He may say things he doesn't mean. Then again, he might not."

She cleared her throat, surprised to find it thick with emotion. "How long?"

"He's on his last blood infusion. He's ordered us to stop further ones. My guess, maybe eighteen to twenty-four hours, tops." Bolvar's voice was quiet.

Lisbon just stared into the room and she started slightly when he put a hand on her shoulder. "How long were you married?"

She blinked her eyes suddenly at the question, her mind a little fuzzy. "Uh…nine years," she murmured, and she felt moisture at the corners of her eyes.

He gave her a small squeeze on her shoulder. "Would you like me to send for a chaplain in a little while?" he asked.

Lisbon had to replay what he said in her mind, distracted as she was. "Um. He was Catholic. I don't know if he's practicing."

"I'll have Father Destin visit you later. It might be good for the both of you, give you both some closure."

She didn't dispute him as he strode off, but she pretty sure that God himself couldn't repair the damage done between them so long ago.


	4. Steel

**The Rose Garden**

Comments: Thanks for reviews! After my first shot at this chapter I happened to listen to Natalie Merchant's "Seven Years" and thought it was a rather appropriate song in some ways. You should check it out. Also, I was going to put this up tomorrow, but Ebony10, you made me laugh, so I had to get it up for you!

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**Chapter 4-Steel**

_"But you're going to be gone for so long," she protested, disliking the whining quality her voice had. He looked angry. "Why do you need to join the military? There are lots of other things you can do—"_

_"Look at us!" he interrupted viciously. "We can't hardly afford to eat! I can't find work that pays enough to pay bills and buy food. We're living in this godawful shithole! You're getting so deep into debt with your school loans and your brothers—"_

_Anger and hurt filled her. "Oh, so this is _my_ fault now? I wanted to wait, wanted to see us stable and employed before we got married, but you just had to go ahead! Now it's my fault? Grow up, Michael!"_

_"The Marines will be a good job, pay well." He seized her shoulders and his eyes begged her. "Please, Tessa. I need to do this—something with my life. It'll be good for us. Maybe I'll get stationed out here once I finish boot camp."_

_She threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. "We'll make it, somehow, Mikey," she asserted. He smoothed her hair, but didn't answer._

The heart monitors continued to beep as she sat beside his bed. His breaths were shallow, but even. He looked as if he'd aged twenty years in the past day since she'd seen him at Tiny's. It was night now, nearly midnight, but she fought off sleep and exhaustion. She would witness the last hours of his life, she would be there for him, like he wasn't for her.

Bolvar had sent a glass of water and several Tylenol in to her and she took them with a slight smile. He was a good man.

She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to push away her memories. She hadn't thought much of Michael since he was convicted for assault and disappeared from her life, since she'd taken the team lead job at CBI, and she certainly hadn't thought of the situation surrounding their split. But now as she sat here, her eyes going over his chiseled features, his bare head, his furrowed brow, it was all coming back.

Lisbon felt emotionally raw and exposed, and she let out a pained sigh.

"Heya, Tess," a voice rasped, and her eyes snapped open. "Didn't think…you'd come."

She smiled through her unshed tears. "Hey, Mikey." Her hand took his of its own accord.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I'm selfish for…wanting you here."

"Yeah, you are," she said, but her tone said she didn't mean it. He smiled, just barely.

Michael sighed, just a little. "I'm kind of glad—in a way. At least I'm not…leaving behind a wife…kids…"

A pang of sorrow pinched her heart. "Nothing is worth what we lost, Michael," she whispered forcefully.

His hand patted hers. "I know, Tess. I'm sorry. That's not what I meant." His eyes closed and he gave a shuddering sigh, but didn't speak again. His heart monitor continued to beat steadily.

Lisbon angrily swiped tears from her eyes. She shouldn't cry for him, but she couldn't help it. He was in so much pain, and his eyes held so much regret. She felt sorry for him, she admitted to herself, and was angry at herself for it.

Slouching back in her chair, she rested her aching head on her propped up hand and watched him sleep.

* * *

_Teresa relished in the feel of her husband next to her, their naked limbs tangled together. He slept, and she studied him. He had been fit before he left her, but now he was like chiseled marble. He was beautiful, moreso than any statue she'd ever seen. She fell asleep next to him, dreaming of their life together, now that he was out of the Marines, now that he would get a normal job, come home to her like a normal husband every evening._

_So she didn't understand, then, why he couldn't hold down a job after months of trying. She didn't understand why he was distant. When she tried to talk to him, he brushed her off angrily, saying she couldn't understand what it was like. He had nightmares, but refused to talk about them. He was upset that she had a good job starting with the California Bureau of Investigation. He said that he should be providing, not her, yet he exploded in anger every time she suggested he try a particular employer._

_Then he started drinking. _

Lisbon woke with a start, wincing at the sharp pain in her head. "Damn," she whispered.

Her phone rang again and she picked it up. "Lisbon," she muttered, standing slowly. She let herself out of Michael's room and into the hallway.

"Hey, Boss." It was Cho's voice. "We found Giles cabin."

She glanced at the clock at the end of the hall. Three in the morning. "Get a warrant and go check it out," she ordered tiredly. "I wouldn't put it past Ayres to tip him off, so you need to move fast."

"Sure, Boss. You doing alright?"

"I'm fine. I won't be in tomorrow. Supposed to have complete bed rest." Well that was the truth at least. She felt a little guilty leading him on, but what was she supposed to say? Only Minelli knew that she'd been married before, only Minelli knew that she'd been hospitalized from the injuries he'd inflicted. No one knew she'd been pregnant. Lisbon had been a different person then. "You comfortable on this case, Cho?"

"Yep. We'll get it, Boss. Don't worry. Sorry for waking you."

"No, it's fine, Cho. Call me with anything you need."

Lisbon took a quick trip by the coffee machine in the ICU waiting room and grabbed a Butterfinger from the vending machine when she realized how hungry she was. Downing them quickly, she let herself back into ICU and resumed her vigil by Michael's bedside.

His eyes were closed when she sat back down next to him, but she could tell he was awake.

"You're...so much different," he rasped. "You used to be...so shy. You were..." he trailed off with a shrug. "Confident. Assured."

"Oh, did I wake you with my call?" she asked, a little guiltily.

He shook his head, barely moving from side-to-side. "I was awake. Sorta. Who's...Cho?"

She drew her knees up to her chest and circled her arms around them. "He's one of the agents who works for me."

Michael gave her a lopsided smile. "The boss, eh?" He coughed roughly and she bit her lip at the painful hacking. "Well isn't that...a kicker," he muttered. "Pick up a cold...on the day...I die. Little buggers...got no respect." His eyes sparkled with some of his old humor. Count on Michael to joke about dying.

She unsuccessfully tried to stifle a rather undignified giggle, which made his smile widen.

"So...you like...your job?" he asked. "You good...at it?"

Lisbon nodded. "I love it. They tell me I'm good at it, so I guess I'll take their word."

"You ever...kill anyone?" His eyes seemed to weigh her.

Her chin came up slightly. "Yes." Michael saw sorrow flash in her defiant eyes.

Michael nodded, his eyes knowing. He saw in her the same thing, the loss of a little piece of you whenever you killed someone. But he also saw a strength there, something he'd seen in other men he'd fought with. He'd referred to it as emotional steel. Never would he have thought to find that in the eyes of his once shy, though capable, ex-wife. But there it was, the ability to handle killing a human being because you did it to protect another, because it was the _right thing to do_. It didn't make it easier, though, that was clear on her face.

He realized long ago that he didn't have that steel. At least he hadn't when he needed it. She did.

He wondered for a moment if she'd earned that through him, or if she'd gotten it before that fateful night. If he'd been willing to talk to her, to try and make her understand, would things have ended differently?

* * *

_The slammed door startled her from her doze on the couch. Michael hadn't been home since the day before. She wasn't sure if she should call the cops. Was he dead? Had he left her?_

_But here he was. She glanced at the clock. Four a.m. Two hours before she had to leave for work. He stumbled in, his eyes bloodshot. For a moment, she saw her father echoed in her husband and in that moment, she felt her heart break._

_"Where have you been?" she asked, anger causing her face to redden slightly._

_"None of your damn business," he growled, throwing his keys on the kitchen table. _

_She approached him. "You haven't been home in two days! You are my husband! It _is_ my business."_

_Teresa didn't expect it. She found herself on the floor, the breath gone from her lungs. She only realized when she looked up at him that he had hit her. He had never laid hands on her with any violent intent before. Tears formed in her eyes, and not just from the pain._

_"Sorry, Tess. I'm just…I'm sorry," he mumbled, with the grace to appear a little embarrassed. "It won't happen again."_

_But it did.

* * *

_

Michael's breathing worsened, and his pain increased. The doctors couldn't increase his pain medication more without killing him. She wondered at the irony of it, at the humanity of it_—_not giving a man dying in terrible pain more medicine because it might kill him. Interesting logic.

A small part of her noted the karma. Karma how, she wasn't sure, and the thoughts rolled around in her mind unchecked, as she had no energy to focus them. Karma that a man who had killed painlessly died a horribly painful death, or karma that a man who caused so much pain to her and the death of their child died a horribly painful death? Which karma was it, she wondered? Was karma even a factor in all this? She sighed at her rambling thoughts and tamped them down, her mind stilling for a few moments only.

Sometimes she wondered why she hadn't left him. That wasn't something she liked to think about, and she hadn't thought much of it over the years. She considered it now, though.

She felt weak for staying in an abusive relationship so long, embarrassed that she, Agent Teresa Lisbon of the California Bureau of Investigation, had stayed with a man who beat her, who gave her no choice in their sexual relationship, who couldn't hold down a job and drained her money on bar tabs. Yes, she, the intelligent, independent, ball-busting agent had stayed with an abusive husband because of a misguided hope that he might change, that her love meant something to him.

It happened, more than she cared to think about. Some women who chose to stay died for it. She had no doubt that she could have been in that statistical group had she not had her hand forced. Too many women stayed for the men they had been, instead of the men they had become.

_She came to dread him coming home. He did it less now, and she began staying at the office some nights, sleeping on the floor of their squadroom. Everyone extolled her dedication, her early mornings and late nights on the job. No one considered that she was sleeping there._

_Some nights she'd go home, times when she was sure he wouldn't be there, usually after she'd been paid. She would stretch out in their bed, remembering how it used to be, and she'd cry. Then she'd place a hand over her abdomen where the little life they had created lay, not out of love or passion, but out of his drunken anger and his need to control her. He had found her in their bed and violently taken her despite her protests, her fighting. He hurt her, but at the same time, given her hope. Hope that something good could come out of all this pain._

_She was in their bedroom now, in their new apartment, the best place they'd lived in their married lives, paid for by her job with the CBI. As she caressed her child and dozed off to sleep, she decided to leave him, to move out on her own, to be a single mom and raise her child right._

_Teresa woke with a cry as she was ripped from the bed, and her head hit the corner of the bedside table as she fell to the floor. Her vision blacked for a moment, and when she came to, she had barely enough time to hold up her arm to shield herself. He had an old bat she kept handy in case of an intruder._

_She felt her arm snap from the blow and she cried out. She had only one thought—to protect her child._

_"Who is he?" Michael demanded, bring the bat down on her ribs. "Where have you been? You fucking whore!"_

_"Work, Michael! I'm not—there's no one!" she sobbed. "Please, Michael!"_

_Another blow came, and another. She curled around her baby, taking blow after blow. Blood choked her, and her chest compressed, taking her breath away. Teresa braced for another blow, but it never came. She heard his footsteps, and then the door. She lay, stunned, in shock, pain wracking her beaten body.  
_

_She felt warmth between her legs and panic rose. "No, please God, no," she pleaded, tears coursing down her cheeks. Painfully, she sought out the phone on her nightstand and dialed 911._

Tears made paths down her cheeks as she silently wept. She wept for herself, for Michael, for what they could have had. She wept for her child that she had never known.

"You're thinking…of Anna…aren't you?" Michael breathed. He twitched his fingers slightly over hers.

"Anna?" she asked, wiping tears away.

He smiled a little, though his eyes were closed. "That's what I…always thought we'd name a little…girl. I like to think that's…what our baby was. Anna."

Lisbon stopped trying to hold them in and the tears ran anew. "I'm sorry, Michael. I can't stop hating you for that. I'm so very sorry."

Though he didn't move his arm, she could read his body language. He seemed to waved it off and opened his eyes. "I hate myself, Tess. Maybe…if there's a heaven, maybe I can apologize there. Maybe there's forgiveness for what I've done there." His voice was quiet but strong. His blue eyes were clear.

"God, Mikey," she whispered brokenly. "I never stopped loving you." She didn't realize it until that moment, but she hadn't. She may hate him for what he did to her, hate him for his weakness, for killing their child. But deep down, she remembered the man he'd been, the man he still was, and she loved him. Her heart felt as if it would burst and she sobbed quietly.

His grip was strong on her hand. "I wish I could have been a better man, a better husband, and a better father. It took death to make me see that. I hope—" He bit back tears of his own. "I hope that one day you can forgive me, Tess." His hand caressed her face, and she found herself leaning into that once strong hand. "I still love you so much, and I always will," he murmured.

Michael seemed to lose his strength, and she took his hand and pressed it against her lips. The last sixteen years seemed to flash before her eyes at once and she closed them against the onslaught. Finally, she brought her green eyes to meet his, standing slowly. "I forgive you, Michael," she whispered. "I can't forget, but...I can forgive you." Then she leaned over and kissed him gently on the lips. She tasted the salt of their tears as his lips responded to hers. His hand grasped hers tightly.

As she drew back, he smiled, an echo of his brilliant heart-breaking grin. "Thank you," he breathed, his eyes closing slowly. He never drew another.

Teresa dropped back to her chair, his lifeless hand in hers. Tears poured down her cheeks and she allowed herself to cry for him, to weep. So much that they'd had together, and it had come down to this moment. So much lost.

A nurse quietly turned the monitor off, and let her be, alone in the room with the body of Michael Ballinger, beloved husband of Teresa and father of Anna.


	5. On the Breeze

**The Rose Garden**

Disclaimer: I forgot it at the beginning, but they aren't mine.

Comments: Thanks for the reviews, and I wanted to comment a bit on why I love writing about Lisbon's past. I think she's the type of character that has tons of potential to develop, and she's a very real person. Every day we see people and talk to people who have been through very tough pasts: broken homes, loss of parents, abusive relationships, difficult and scary job scenarios that ask them to do very difficult things, and they are functioning, capable people who have become stronger from what they went through. We also see those who have had those same things and can't cope. Sometimes you can handle some trials and can't cope with others. We might be some of those people who went through these things. We may cope with some and not with others. But I think most of us are like Lisbon, and while our pasts may be painful in some ways, that we have the strength to survive and handle them, to become stronger from them.

I really enjoy writing about her, giving her the attention she deserves, and because her and Jane interact in such interesting ways. I like drawing on that relationship, but I really love seeing her outside that relationship too, as just Lisbon, without Jane's influence.

As a side note, I've never been in a situation like Lisbon was in this story, though through some of my experiences in relationships, I understand it enough to put myself there, to see how I would feel. I know from some conversations with the wife of the couple I dedicate this story to about how she felt leaving a drunk husband, though she still loved him—still loves him, and how she did it not only for herself, but for him. So I say that as a disclaimer that I'm not speaking from experience necessarily.

A bit long on comments, but the reviews got me thinking about it. This is the final chapter, and I hope you all enjoyed!

* * *

**Chapter 5-On the Breeze  
**

It was afternoon before she stumbled out into the sunlight and realized that she didn't have a car. Squinting against the sunlight, she found that she was at a different entrance than where she'd entered—the opposite side of the hospital, in fact. Lisbon sighed in frustration.

They had taken his body away nearly five hours before, but she'd spent time in the ICU waiting room arranging his burial plans. He would have no funeral—there was no one to attend but her and maybe a few old Marine buddies.

Pulling out her phone, she didn't know who to call. Her emotions felt as if someone had taken a cheese grater over them, her mind was scattered. She was exhausted, sore, and her eyes burned from crying. Almost instinctively, she hit the speed dial.

"Patrick Jane, Psychic Extraordinaire," came a cheerful voice, knowing it was her on the other end.

"Jane, don't say my name, just listen," she muttered.

"Oh—hey," he said lamely. "What's up?"

"Can you come pick me up at the hospital? I'm at the non-emergency entrance."

She could hear his frown. "You're still at the hospital?" he asked, his voice muffled, as if he turned away for privacy.

"Please, Jane?" Her tone begged him not to question her just now.

"Yeah, I'll be right there. Twenty minutes."

She collapsed on a bench, popping another few Tylenol into her mouth, dry swallowing. Suddenly, a scent reached her nose and she took a deep breath. Roses.

Lisbon glanced over her shoulder and saw that the hospital had a rose guardian, exploding in colorful blooms. It was tucked into the hospital, a brick path leading down to it. A sign was displayed at the entrance: _Perkin's Memorial Rose Garden_.

She stood carefully and stuck her hands in her pockets, hesitating.

_"I'd plant you a rose garden…"_

A tear leaked down her cheek as she staggered toward the garden. The heady aroma pushed her headache back, leaving only a dull ache that was nothing against the ache in her heart.

Lisbon sank onto a marble bench, hands on her lap.

_"That's some pretty heavy reading material," a voice said behind her. Teresa turned. The first thing she saw was a dazzling smile._

_"I'm Michael," he said, sitting down across from her. She pulled her coffee closer, out of his way._

_She smiled, a little shyly. "Teresa."_

_"Tolstoy, eh?"_

_She shrugged. "For class."_

_Michael nodded. "I hope you don't mind me saying," he murmured, his eyes intense. "But you have gorgeous eyes."_

_Teresa blushed. "Thanks."_

_He grinned. "I know, it's a lame pickup line, but it's true."_

_She closed her book to disguise her discomfort. "Are you a student at the university too?"_

_The handsome man shook his head. "I work construction mostly. Did a couple years of school, but it didn't take."  
_

_"Do you come to Tiny's a lot?" she asked casually as she packed away her books. She felt a pang of disappointment at the fact that she was already going to be late picking up her brothers from karate practice.  
_

_Shrugging, he played with a straw wrapper, then looked up her with that smile on his face. "Occasionally." She felt herself melt a bit at having that smile directed at her.  
_

_Teresa tossed her books in her bag and stood. "Maybe I'll see you here again, maybe tomorrow, around eight." She cocked her head slightly, and gave him a coy smile._

_If possible, his own smile grew larger. "Sounds about right. It was really great to meet you, Teresa."_

A hand squeezed her shoulder gently and she put her hand on it, letting tears drip down onto her lap. Patrick Jane came to sit next to her.

"Hey," he murmured, his hand sliding to her back, between her shoulder blades.

"His name…was Michael," she whispered. "I was married to him for…a long time." Jane pulled her into him, and strangely, resisting didn't cross her mind. She nearly collapsed against his chest.

"It says a lot, to be able to leave someone for their own good," he said quietly, a hand absently stroking her hair. His chin rested on top of her head.

She closed her eyes, hungry for his strength. "You knew?"

"Not everything. I know he was a drunk. I know he hurt you."

Lisbon was silent for a moment. "How did you know?" she asked reluctantly, as though she wasn't entirely sure she wanted the answer.

For once, Jane hesitated. "I could see it in your eyes, every single day," he said finally. "I know you lost a child. Anyone who has lost a child can see it in someone else." His voice sounded a little tight.

The sobs finally tore from her chest and she buried her face in his vest. His hand stroked her hair as he made comforting noises to her.

They sat there for a long time, his arms around her. Slowly her tears lessened and finally, her breathing was slow and even. Jane looked down and realized that she'd fallen asleep.

He studied her, noting her relaxed expression, her tear-stained cheeks. While she looked the same to him, it was odd seeing her asleep, without that guarded, closed expression she normally wore. She looked younger.

Patrick Jane closed his eyes and took in the scent of roses. He remembered that first night he held his wife in his arms.

_"If I could have anything in the world, Patrick," she murmured, "I want a rose garden. A sprawling, wild rose garden outside our bedroom window. We'll open the window in the summer and have the scent of roses while we make love."_

_He grinned down at her. "A bed of roses without the thorns."_

_She poked him in the ribs. "I'm telling you my dreams and you're making fun of them," she said teasingly._

_"Never, darling," he said, stroking her face. "I'll plant you that rose garden."

* * *

_

Lisbon woke, disoriented. She recognized her ceiling, and then her bedroom walls, but she couldn't recall how she got there.

Slowly, as the pounding in her head magnified with consciousness, she recalled the events of the previous day. Michael. Lisbon closed her eyes, grief washing over her.

She finally sat up and made for the shower, even though the clock read six p.m. She had no clue what day it was, but she needed a shower. Maybe it would help her head.

Lisbon relished in the hot shower, taking a far longer one than she would normally, letting it wash over her sore muscles, then slowly got dressed.

With a pair of jeans on and a comfortable shirt, she opened the door to her bedroom and barely kept from reaching for her gun. Jane sat at her kitchen table, slowly sipping tea.

"Hey, Lisbon," he greeted, turning the pages to an old magazine. "Good morning."

"It's six in the evening," she responded shortly, going to her cabinets to scrounge some food.

He shrugged. "I figure whenever you wake up is morning."

Setting a cereal box on the table, she pulled open the fridge looking for milk. She gave it a dubious look and popped the lid off, sniffing it carefully. It seemed okay.

"How long was I asleep?" she asked, pushing the cereal around the bowl idly with her spoon.

"Over twenty-four hours. You needed it."

She munched her cereal in silence, all too aware of his occasional glances from his magazine.

"How is your head?" he asked lightly.

"It's fine."

Jane cocked his head slightly at the lie. "Better maybe, but not fine."

She gave him an irritated glance up from her cereal. "So how did I get here from the hospital? I don't really remember." Changing the subject was good, even if it was only slightly.

"Well," he began, a smug grin on his face. "You fell asleep in the rose garden at the hospital. I carried you to my car, then up here."

Lisbon studied him a moment. She'd figured that she just didn't remember walking, but he'd _carried_ her? That should be embarrassing, but she was a little shocked when she found that it wasn't. "Thanks, Jane. Sorry for all that."

He waved her off. "Nonsense. That's what friends do, right?"

She playfully jabbed her spoon in his direction. "I can guarantee you, I wouldn't haul your sorry ass anywhere."

Jane's eyebrows came up. That sounded like a challenge. How could he possibly force Lisbon into a position where she had to carry him, without getting seriously injured? That was something to consider for later. It might be worth getting seriously injured.

"Anything new on the case?" she asked, distracting him from his plans. "Or do I need to call Cho?"

He shook his head. "Cho's got it covered. Guess who it was?"

Lisbon narrowed her green eyes at him. "I don't like guessing."

Nearly bouncing on his seat like a child, he gave her a disappointed look. "Oh come on, just guess. Cho has them in custody. They confessed. It's okay to guess now."

"Karen Giles."

He gave her a suspicious look. "I think I'm rubbing off on you."

"Well, she was a kickboxer. I recognized the gear. She had the power to do that to Yancey." She took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. "She's also one of those women who can dish it out but can't take it. Heaven forbid her husband cheat on her," Lisbon muttered.

They fell into an awkward silence at the mention of husbands, and Lisbon rose suddenly, depositing her dishes in the sink. Her hands gripped the edge of the counter at sudden thought of Michael, of remembering that last breath he'd taken, the things he'd said.

Suddenly, she felt strong hands on her shoulders and she stiffened.

"Hey," he said quietly. "it's alright to let down your guard sometimes, Lisbon."

"I'm fine, Jane," she said thickly.

He turned her to face him and she dropped her eyes.

"I know. But it's good to mourn him."

Her gaze came back up to his. "I know. It's just surprising, I guess. After seven years, I guess I just thought him dying wouldn't hurt nearly so much." The last was said at a near whisper. "And I almost feel guilty, mourning him, as if it betrays my child that he…" she trailed off, unable to keep her tears from welling up.

Jane pulled her into a hug, and she let him, her arms circling his waist. She didn't cry, but she closed her eyes, relishing the feel of his arms around her, the comfort he gave. "There's nothing wrong with mourning a man you loved, Lisbon. No matter what he did, he was your husband."

His own voice sounded a little choked and she looked up at him. "I'm sorry Jane," she said, distressed. "I didn't mean for—"

Jane shook his head. "Stop worrying, Lisbon. You always worry." His voice was clearer now. "I'm fine."

A wave of dizziness washed over her and she felt her knees buckle. She heard him distantly say her name.

"I'm fine, fine," she muttered absently. "Just got dizzy for a minute. Damn concussion." She realized that her cheek was against his chest and both of them were clutching the other tightly.

"How about we have a seat on the couch?" he said, releasing her. He still kept a hand on her arm though.

Jane led her to the couch and she sat down heavily. He sat down next to her. A comfortable breeze touched her cheek from the open window behind the couch.

"Here, lay down, and let's see if I can't do something with that headache. It's my fault you got it, anyway."

Lisbon opened her mouth to protest, but realized that she was miserable, the headache pounding in her skull nearly making her sick. Plus, it really was his fault.

Wordlessly, she stretched out on her couch, her head in Jane's lap.

His fingers were warm and light on her skin and she sighed as they played over her scalp, down her neck, to her temples. He stayed well clear of the sore part of her skull, but she felt better already.

"Jane?" she asked idly as he worked. "Will you tell me about your wife?"

His hands stopped a moment, then restarted gently. "Sure, Lisbon," he said softly.

Jane softly told her about his wife, how they'd met, the run-around she'd given him. She laughed at his stories, commenting that he deserved every bit of the trouble she'd given him. His voice grew stronger as he went along.

"She wanted a rose garden, right under the window," he said, his hands absently, but expertly, finding spots to relieve her pain.

"Michael told me that he'd plant me a rose garden," she mumbled, her eyes closed, her face relaxed. "Did you ever plant it?"

He smiled sadly. "I did. Worst decision I ever made. She'd spend all her time out there instead of with me." His smile took on an edge of humor.

Lisbon laughed throatily. "I can see why."

"Did Michael ever plant it for you?"

Her eyes opened, focused on the ceiling. She was silent for a moment, and her mirth faded. "No, he didn't." She paused. "But I think I went out the wrong entrance for a reason, for that rose garden." It sounded odd even as she said, but she knew it to be true.

They fell into a comfortable silence, his hands still carefully massaging her neck, her eyes closed, and a sweet aroma tickled their noses, arriving on the breeze.

Lisbon's eyes opened and she glanced up at Jane. Their eyes locked as they recognized the smell.

It was the scent of roses.


End file.
